Video Booty

Here's my last take on good music for a lapdance:

I really like Bey*nce's "Baby Boy". Plus she's smoking hot in her new video, with a lot of great stripper moves. I'd like her to be my "Naughty Girl". At least for a couple of hours.

And while I'm thinking about it, I'd like to get horizontal and nasty with every female in Outk*st's "The way you move" video. Especially the booty shaking girl in the bikini at the end. Definitely tasty.

And I wouldn't mind rolling around with Jessic* Simps*n in her closet in her video....

O.K. I've been watching too many videos lately.

I went to a Fight and a Hockey Game Broke Out

I have to stop sitting near the Hooters Girls at the hockey game. Their bright orange hotness distracts me from the violence.

As did the blonde twins to my left with their matching sexy shag haircuts.
And the eastern European looking bleached blonde with the huge cleavage behind me.
And the cute brunette in front of me with the perfect makeup. Those eyes......
And the perky blonde keeping score down by the glass.
And the gorgeous 40 year old across the ice 3 rows up.
And the hot bored cutie down and right with the extra piercings - taking the shape right out her sweater.
And the....

Wait, a FIGHT! Now that's what I'm talking about

posted by DanceFan at 3/28/2004 11:28:52 PM

Professor DanceFan is In

I received an email from a delightful new reader, a College Girl, who stumbled on this blog while searching the internet for tips on how to give her boyfriend a lapdance. She had sent him to a strip club in Vegas, and he told her he felt that he would enjoy one better from her. She wrote a great letter asking for my advice, especially on how to create the "headspace" that I've talked about here.

Glad to help if I can with my take on a great starter lapdance - from the guy's Point of View. There were two givens in my mind when I wrote back:

1. This is not a professional situation and the rules of contact are up to them
2. There's no time limit

Here's what I wrote to the intriguing College Girl. Hope it helped:

The best dances are about attitude, not technique. And you have a great attitude to start with. Great attitude means two things: first, of course, that you want to please your partner. Second, and most important, that you are going to enjoy the dance yourself! If the dance is a chore for you it's not going to be very good. If you visibly enjoy doing the dance it will come across to your partner.

Be confident even if you're inexperienced. You sound like a very attractive (dare I say Hot?) girl. Be confident. Feel sexy and you'll come across sexy. (Thanks for the description of you by the way. Consider my imagination sparked!)

Men are visual, so dress sexy. Whatever that means for you. My dancer tonight was a lovely tall blonde girl. She had knee-hi white stockings, a thin stripe of a plaid miniskirt that defied gravity to stay on, and a halter top, and a thong. Very nice. Long clingy dresses that are easy to get out of work great too.

Music is a personal taste. I'd say good music for a lapdance is different than good music for the stage. Driving rock anthems are good on stage. Softer music in the lapdance. Sade is probably on track. Or Nora Jones. Maybe Chingy or R. Kelly. Anything that you would sway to and is not jarring. Strange as it may sound I often feel the music physically more than hear it. It's usually pretty loud in a club. (I had a 1/2 hour dance in a club tonight and I can't tell you one of the ten or so songs that played.)

I like to be sitting down for a lapdance. It gives me a lap! I've actually tried lying down for bed-dances and didn't like them. Couches are ok, but not great because you can sink down in them. Maybe a firm loveseat. It needs to be wide enough that you can comfortably straddle him with your knees.

You might start with the "no-touch" plan. Have him put his hands to his side or behind him. Build the anticipation by delaying touch and you control the dance. The rule is that you can touch him all you want, but he can't touch you with his hands. You can let him touch eventually, but with respect.

The lapdance may start as a dance, or a strip tease for you to get out of whatever clothes you are going to take off. But you should establish contact fairly quickly. Lapdances that are "all air" aren't very satisying for the guy. Once you make contact, stay in contact. As you may move from place to place keep a hand on him. Spread his knees and work in between them either standing or kneeling.

Feature yourself. You're the star, believe it! Your guy loves all the parts of you, so show them to him. Rub them on him. Show him your front. Show him your backside. He's an assman, so keep that in mind and show it to him often. He wants to see it. Put it right in his face. Also, cradle his face into your breasts, but don't let him touch them! You control it.

The heart of the lapdance, and the key to establishing "headspace", is the lap straddle. Put your knees on both sides of him and straddle him. The real key to the "headspace" to me is the "almost-makeout" . I like nuzzling our cheeks together, and passing our lips by each other in an almost kiss. Part of the allure of the lapdance is simulating a makeout without actually doing it. Deny him the kiss, but get really really close to it. You can, of course, dry hump him. But you control it.

You can change positions, with slow transitions. Lay across his lap. Straddle across him on all 4's. Lean back on him with your back to him. Stand astride him, either facing him or away. Slowly, like a ballet, with lots of rubbing yourself against him as you change. (Not the frantic paced flashdance grinding like in "Showgirls". That's awful).

For the really hot lapdance you have to pay attention to the wood. He will get an erection. Let me repeat that: he will get an erection. Find ways to acknowledge it nonverbally. Find it with you hand and maintain contact as you change positions. Don't be afraid to hold it and acknowledge it. One hot move is to be on your knees between his legs and come up on his lap with your hair covering it and cover his erection through his pants with your mouth and blow hot air on it. Then eye contact. Awesome!

Mainly remember that the best lapdances are hardly dances at all but are slow cuddles with grinding and dry-humping. Crude, but true. For guys it's a very visual and physical thing. You are the star and you are in control. At least until it gets really passionate.....

P.S. After thinking about it, here's some more thougts on music. Other good dance songs:

Usher - "Yeah"
Chris Isaak - "Wicked Game"
Nelly - "Ride Wit Me"
Prince - "Cream"

Actually, most of Prince's stuff.

Blind Date

I treat going to the strip club like going on a date.

I pay attention to grooming before I go. I shower. I try to dress nice, or at least clean even if it's only jeans. And as I'm driving to the club I complete the ritual. A shave with an electric razor to have a smooth cheek for the cheek-nuzzling. A light application of cologne. I've even brushed my teeth as I drive. Definitely some mouthwash. And some breathstrips in my pocket for use throughout the night.

The girls notice and tell me they appreciate it. Especially the lack of whiskers!

And of course it's a blind date. I never know who will be working the shift when I go in. I can guess, but I'm often wrong. One of the tricks I've gotten to know as a regular is where the white board is stashed away with the stage names of the dancers who are "signed in" for the night. Saves me some wondering and I know fairly quickly who my "date" will likely be.

Southern Comfort

She was the first dancer I saw when I walked into this particular strip club. It was a Saturday night. Music pounding. Standing room only. Southern Comfort on the satellite stage. I pulled up a seat, folded my dollar bill, laid it on the tip rail, and was hooked right in. She was spectacular. A living, breathing teen queen in all of her naked splendor 1 foot from me. She couldn't have been more than 19. She had a lit up smile and a vitality to her. And I was hooked.

Why 'Southern Comfort'? Well her stage name spoke to something in my family's southern roots. (I'm a midwesterner, but I have tons of 'kin' in the south.) And I could picture her in some kind of hoop skirted antebellum dress under a parasol at a cotillion with dainty white gloves on. (Okay, I have a vivid imagination).

I promised myself that I would get a dance from her. A promise that I would not fulfill for a year. Until one night she was my blind date. It was my Lovely Dancer's birthday and I dropped into club not expecting to see her. It was the wrong day and the wrong shift. But Southern Comfort was there, looking gorgeous. She had a plaid miniskirt on that defied gravity to stay on and a skimpy top. She looked resplendent with her long golden mane of hair framing her angelic face. And the clincher was the knee high white silk stockings. HOT! Her stage show was magnificent and I tipped her at the tiprail. Up close, cradled into her breasts for $1. "Come see me after your set for a dance" I said. And I settled back and I watched her dance out her song. Watching her crawl on all fours down the tiprail with her bare ass high up in the air peeking out from the miniskirt was brain melting. Her perfectly... sculpted ... ass. And the next thing I knew I was asking her to dance. 1/2 hour, VIP.

Southern Comfort didn't know me from Adam. She had to schedule me in because a regular wanted some time with her. No problem. I'll wait. She was worth it. And then she was there and heading upstairs with me in tow.

We settled in on my favorite overstuffed red couch. She began dancing for me, slowly, feeling me out to see what kind of a guy I am. At a distance to see if I'm a groper. A nice routine - establishing the relationship. After a song or so she settled in on my lap. And I noticed that she has these big puppy dog eyes that are really lovely and endearing. And I was pleased to be locked in the gaze of those eyes. And she moved in close with some practiced moves. Blowing in my ear and letting out soft little sex noises that were nice, but practiced. Works for me though. It gets the motor going.

And I touched this beauty. Softly with my fingertips, tracing along her sides and her back and her thighs. Staying within the rules, respectful. Lovingly. Sensously. And quickly she realized that I was a gentleman and that this was ok. More than ok - pleasurable for her and me. And she came close to me and nuzzled her cheek to mine and paused and lingered and stayed with me in the almost-makeout. And I inhaled her fragrance and her essence. And she danced, a ballet on my lap. Facing me, away from me, pivoting, paying attention to the wood. And I stroked. Her back, her neck, her belly. And she came back to my lap and stared into my eyes. I stoked her cheek with the back of my fingers and I drew her close to me. I snuggled into her neck and grazed her shoulders softly with my lips. And slowly she abandoned the routine and settled in and drew close. And she began to release herself to her pleasure. She wrapped her ankles tightly under my thighs and found me and dug in. And she licked my neck with the whole flat of her tongue. And soon those soft sex noises escaped from her - unpracticed. Delicious.

And then she turned and looked behind her and I knew what that meant. Time was up. She dressed in front of me and I paid her, staring into those lovely puppy dog eyes all the time. And I walked down the stairs, past the minder, with a huge tent in my dockers leading me back to my table.

Thank you Southern Comfort. You are a treasure.

My Passionate "Catwoman"

I made a friend that night in bordertown. I met her at the stage, smiling at my approach as I awkwardly laid down backwards. She was strikingly gorgeous. Petite and proportioned. Beautiful natural breasts, tan skin, and a nicely rounded derriere. Absolutely stunning brunette hair that framed her pretty face and had highlights that popped out under the blacklight of the stage. A red top and a hint of a matching red skirt. Which, I discovered as she moved down my body, had nothing underneath. Peek-a-boo. "Thank you baby".

And the she came by and sat with me and we talked. "Hi, I'm 'Lira'. What brings you to town." The usual banter, which became unusual as the time went by. Lira - half Italian and half Argentinian - was prettier than pretty and I was enchanted. But she was more than that - she was interesting and I delighted in talking with her about life and the club and eventually about this blog. She was a treasure - young and free and bohemian and psychic and intelligent and informed. And she was more than that - she was passionate. Must have been the Italian/Argentinian mix. Passionate is definitely the right word. It was attractive, very attractive.

Somewhere in the night as we talked I mentioned my politics. Totally opposite of hers and she was floored. How was it possible that I believed what I do? And we sparred over the next couple of hours. I should say she sparred, I danced. I was just loving talking to her. She was trying to convert me, I was basking in her beauty. I held my own to keep it interesting, but I was laughing and playing. "Am I keeping you from working?" "No, I can make money later. I'm enjoying this". And I was too. She was a true-believer, just a little misguided from my POV. "That's okay" I said. "We don't have to agree, that's what makes the world go around". But she wasn't having that. I must be converted.

And there was a growing attraction at our table. I wanted her. Oh did I want her. And she seemed interested in me.

And we retired to the couches to dance. We lingered and talked while there was a break in the music, comfortable in each other's space. And then she danced for me, beautiful and sexy and sensual. All air, but erotic, with her sexy hair grazing my face as she cradled her breasts for my admiration.

And she curled into me and lingered and talked, not in a hurry to leave. And she honored me: "There's a sexual tension here" she said as she looked in my eyes. "I feel like the Catwoman trying to seduce Batman. They hated each other and but they wanted to fuck each other's brains out!" I couldn't have expressed it better, the fucking part I mean.

I hungered for her. I admired her. I was fascinated by her passion for life. I wanted to ignite in her passion. But I couldn't have her. And I left, back out into the night and over the border. Left with longing for the beautiful and passionate 'Lira'.

Thank you, baby.

Tip-Rail Tourist

It was a long week on the road. Commuter flights and rental cars and hotels and customer calls and all that jazz. But the nights are my own. And my senses are alive with adventure.

So it's over the border I go. A little two-step out of the country and back. A little risky, since I was travelling alone and could disappear in the night. But not really. Just a night on the town with the slightest hint of fish-out-of-water. I discovered Little Italy and had a nice sit down Italian meal. And then some cruising. Where, oh where, in this thriving bordertown would I find the "ballet"?

Ahhh, there it is. A neon outpost. A seat on the side. A LaBatt's Blue, my first. A $20 American. 19 or so round gold dollar coins in return. Coins? What do you do with coins? How do you tip strippers with coins? A folded bill I know. But coins? I know: I'll watch for a while and see how the other shadow figures in this dimly lit establishment do it. 2 songs. 3 songs. 4 songs. No one's tipping. I'm still stuck. And it's becoming clear to me that this is a dive I don't need to stay in. Me and my 19 new friends hit the street.

Down the road I hit paydirt. It's clear walking in the door that I've just gone considerably upscale from my 1st attempt. Classy club. Several beautiful ladies at work. My kind of work. So I pull up a table and order - a Pepsi this time. I don't need to be drinking - I've got to make it back over the border. It would be bad if I don't show up for work the next day and have to do some explaining. Okay, now I can learn about tipping. I take in the scene. An elevated stage at about shoulder level to me sitting down. Beautiful dancers doing 3 song sets ( fully clothed, semi-clothed, naked). Did I say beautiful? Really beautiful actually. And of course no one's tipping here either. Lot's of watching and admiring the ladies, but no money changing hands. I'm still stuck. So I break down and ask. I walk up to the stage and ask. "Turn around, lay back on the stage, put the dollar in your mouth, and I'll come get it". By getting it she means crawling on all fours 69ish over my prone body, going upright on her knees to give me a great view of private parts hovering over my attentive face, backing up to capture the coin between her breasts, and twisting to give me a kiss on the cheek with a "Thank you, baby" thrown in. Harder work than I'm used to a the tiprail, but worth it. And I got pretty good at it by the end of the night! You get a different view depending on whether you went on the 1st song or the 3rd song. For one particular Amazon blonde Barbie doll I went for the 1st song (tight white hotpants) and the 3rd song (naked version). Very nice.

One observation: the ladies didn't appear to be making near as much tip money as their American counterparts who get at least a dollar from every guy sitting around the stage. Not in bordertown though. Lot's of lookers, very few guys willing to be so visible climbing up on the stage. My business sense tells me you shouldn't make it that awkward for the customer to part with his money. But hey, who am I to judge cultural differences. I had fun. I always have fun.

How were the lapdances, you ask? Who said I got lapdances? Oh wait a minute. Of course I got a lapdance or two. "No contact of any kind with the dancers allowed" said the sign. All air. Not what I'm used to, if you've read this blog. But sweet and sensual. More the art of the tease and less grind.

Babes Wielding Belts

Parties, bachelor or birthday, are a permanent fixture of the strip club life. As a solitary club-goer I try to tune them out but they're ever present on the weekend. ( I did take myself to the club this week to celebrate my own "XXth anniversary of my 29th birthday, I won't say which anniversary. I made my own fun.)

So after the group has some fun and the future groom or birthday boy is all liquored up and had some private dance attention from the ladies - what's next? Public recognition of course. So do they get all the employees together to clap and sing a happy birthday song like they do at Bennigan's or somewhere? No, of course not. The pinnacle of the party is dragging the happless drunk fellow up on stage for massive public attention.

At most clubs I've been to I would want to be that guy for a moment. Usually it's a lot of positive and hot attention from multiple seminude ladies aggressively fondling all at once. It's starts with a chair dragged out on stage. The celebrant is seated with his hands out of play. Then the dancers take turns lapdancing, fondling, and flashing the lucky guy while the DJ whips up the frenzy from the guys drunker buddies and encourages the ladies to get wilder. It's all fun for the guy and might even end with a compromising photo of drunk guy with ass or boobs or crotch in his face. It's better than a cupcake with a candle in it.

My club has a varation on that. It has a B/D twist with some humiliation thrown in. It starts with the chair and the lapdance and then quickly goes quirky. The lapdance is vigorous, even aggressively hostile. Slammin' on the poor guy's lap. I've seen a girl drop hard from shoulder level down on to his lap. "Hurt him!" seems to be the agenda. Then they stand him up, bend him over, and have him grab the pole. Down come his pants to his ankles. Out comes the Sharpie to mark the targeted buttcheek area. Then the cry goes out for a belt, either the punishee's own or from the offered selection from his buddies. Then Dancer displays the folded-over belt to the crowd with some ceremonial snaps! And the spanking begins. Not just slaps. Dancer winds up once, twice, three times and lays it on him. Bone jarring SLAP! Again, SLAP! Again, SLAP! Ouch! I've seen girls that are clearly working out some personal agression issues here. Beautiful girls. Sexy girls. Pain inflicting girls. Then hapless guy has to pull his pants back up, gather his dignity, and slink off the stage. Hmmmm. Who invented this?

Recently, on a weekend, I saw this play out 3 times in one night with an interesting twist at the end. Birthday boy number 3 turned out to be gorgeous birthday girl! And she was a beauty. Her girlfriends and she had partied all night and finally it was her turn. Out came the chair. Out came one dancer, Sassy Girl. And Dancer gave her the treatment - but a slower more sensuous treatment. Lapdances in the chair for all of us to watch. Straddle and cuddle. Cradling her head into her breasts. Laying out on her lap with the kitty in the face. Hot!

Did birthday beauty escape the belt? Oh no no no. Dancer stood her up against the pole backwards and had her put her hands up along the pole out of the way. She then slowly molested her for our enjoyment. Two beautiful blondes kissing. Groping. Lifting her sweater and taking it off down to her bra. Fondling over the bra. Yow! Unbuttoning her jeans and sliding them down to her matching white panties! Kissing her belly. Rawrrrr! Then it was time to assume the position: face the pole, bend over, grap the pole, pull those delicious buttcheeks out to receive what was coming. Eyes closed and clenched. And Dancer laid it on her. SLAP! SLAP! Incredible. And then Dancer bent down to gently kiss and rub her ass and help her get dressed. Sizzling hot!

P.S. - It seems that dancers get that treatment from their peers when it's their big day. "My ass still hurts" she told me when I spoke to her the day after. I had spent time in the club with my lovely dancer on her big day. It seems like I had gotten there late and missed her time facing the belt. Spanking fondly administered by a true beauty, a tall drink of Southern Comfort that I must write about some day. ( I was a bad boy that night and got an extended dance from SC, and missed getting a dance from my Lovely Dancer. My bad. But oh so good. What can I say.) I would have like to have seen that.

to my Lovely Dancer - I'll linger over a mental picture of you getting your luscious ass spanked red by Southern Comfort. You visualize laying across my lap with me rubbing the healing ointment into your ass! See ya in the dark.

Double Minded Man

As my favorite poet, Jimmy Buffet, once said in the song "Fruitcakes":

"There's a fine line between Saturday night and Sunday morning."

I walk that line and it makes me a conflicted man.

Yes I enjoy crazy, chaotic, indulgent times in the club on Saturday nights with the lovely dancers. Yes I am uplifted spiritually in church on Sunday mornings.

An apparent conflict, I know.

Next post... a comment on girls wielding belts!

My Dance Worthy Trio

With all the beautiful dancers in the club and through all the time spent there I've come down to 3 beautiful, intelligent, sexy, radiant women that I spend time with. It's become easy to say no thanks to the others and spend quality time with these 3. Oh I'll still admire the others, even spend time at the tip-rail. But when it comes down to private dances, there's only 3.

My lovely Dancer
My poetry girl
Sassy girl

My lovely Dancer - thank you for the extended dance time. Lovely as always. Interesting as always. Sexy as always. Totally inthe headspace - connected - alive. 4 more hours wouldn't have been enough.

Sassy Girl (see her post below) - hugs and snuggles in passing. But recharging my battery just the same. We've only started to enjoy each other and I can't tell you how awesome you are.

to Poetry dancer. I miss you and I owe you some hugs.

Thank you ladies.

To My Lovely Dancer...

Thank you for spending time with me tonight and brightening my life. We have interesting lives, you and I, at least flashes of extraordinary to season the mundane. You were that for me tonight.

Lovely, indeed. "Right" you said. "That's my word". It's the right word. And yet it's not enough. You literally took my breath away as you came in the door. So young, so fresh and exotic at the same time, so radiant. I loved your hair tonight, as I've loved each incarnation of your style. I yearned to sit behind you, with you leaned into my lap, brushing that long luxurious hair - 100 strokes - more. I loved your beauty, your soft skin with the slightest shimmer of glitter, your eyes, your makeup, your elegant jewlry. I'm entranced by you and I can't help but to gaze at you, to take you in, to memorize you.

I want so much from you. Too much.

I want to be normal with you - as we were tonight. I want to drink with you and talk with you and explore with you. I want to hear about you and your life and dreams and struggles. I want to rescue you and make it right with your friend. I want to just be - with you. I want you to know things about me that no one else on the planet knows.

I want to be passionate with you. I want to take you to a theater and makeout with you in the back row. I want to flirt with you and touch you intimately in inappropriate public places. I want to kiss you until everything fades into the background. And then more.

I want to please you. I want to thrill you with the knowledge and skills that an older lover brings to bed. With hands and fingers and lips and tongue and toys and cuffs. Until your toes curl and the moans are all let out and the fetal position beckons.

I want to take you. I want to guide you and teach you and take my pleasure from you. Urgent and hard, slow and intense, rough and sexy all weekend long.

But, my lovely Dancer, you are .......... unobtainable.

And we exist only in the club, you and I, and in this small stolen moment. And in my memories of how you look and how you feel and how you smell. Thank you, baby.